Perfectly Charming (A Morning Glory Novel Book 2)

by Liz Talley

  Both Logan and Morgan headed back to the pavilion, Logan grabbing the wallet he’d hidden in her bag. He held up a hand at the edge of the water. “You sure you don’t want anything?”

  Jess waved him off. “I’m good. Y’all have fun.” It was her blessing to her date. Go with Morgan. Flirt with Morgan. Feel free to make the next date with Morgan.

  Logan waved back, leaving her standing in the surf, waves crashing into the back of her knees.

  “Aaaaand that’s it. He’s off the hook. I’m officially blown off,” Jess said, turning back to Ryan, who splashed through the water toward her.

  “Well, at least you didn’t have to blow him … uh, off.” Ryan’s eyes danced.

  “You have a dirty mind,” Jess said, appreciating the raunchy comment. He’d been so kind to her that it was fun to see a different side of him.

  “My mind has been called a lot of things, but you might be the first to call it dirty,” he said, grabbing her elbow as they navigated the waves. The power of the surf churned the sand, turning over lots of tiny shells and some fragments of broken ones. Once they made it to the firm sand, he released her. Disappointment pinged inside her.

  But what did she expect? After all, technically she was on a date with another man.

  “So,” Ryan said, turning back to her. Rivulets of water ran down his torso, drawing her eye to his etched stomach. The water weighed his suit down, making it dip lower than normal, showcasing a goodie trail flattened by the moisture. “What do you want to do?”

  She almost said, You, but she managed to catch herself. “I don’t know. Lie out in the sun? Not too long, of course, but enough to dry my suit.”

  “You look terrific in that suit,” he said, shuffling around a kid trying to skim board across a flatter area where the water washed in.

  Warmth that had nothing to do with the August sun curled around her. “I haven’t worn a bikini in a while.”

  They stepped beneath the pavilion. He reached over and pulled out the towel she’d had the presence of mind to toss in at the last minute and handed it to her.

  “Thank you,” she said, wiping her face and drying her arms. He watched her, which made her skin prickle. There was no mistaking the current of electricity zipping between them. He might have routinely flirted with women, but he didn’t look at a woman like she was Nana’s banana pudding unless he wanted a serving. “You’re staring.”

  “You’re beautiful.”

  Jess felt the flush creep up her neck. “Ryan.”

  “What? I’m telling the truth. Benton Mason is a fucking idiot,” he said, accepting the towel as she handed it to him.

  There were a lot of things she could say at that moment. She could make like her mother and give him a chiding about his use of language in front of a lady. She could disagree with the fact she was beautiful and her ex was an idiot. She could ignore it. Pooh-pooh it. She could laugh and say, Oh, you silly boy. But she said none of those things. Instead she lifted her gaze to meet his and said, “Thank you.”

  The smile that tipped the corners of his mouth and lit his eyes told her everything she needed to know. Mutual attraction, mutual agreement. They wanted each other, and it would happen.

  Jess lifted a hand and brushed errant sand off his shoulder. His skin was hot beneath the sun, mirroring the desire building inside her. “You want to come over tonight?”

  “Like for dinner?”

  Jess gave a light laugh. “If that’s what you want to call it.”

  Chapter Nine

  Rain settled in over Pensacola, turning the evening gray and making the bay unsettled. Droplets ran down the sliding glass door and plinked onto the tin roof that covered the beach condos. Ryan stood on the porch of Jess’s rental carrying a bottle of expensive wine and a pie he’d bought at Publix. He had no idea if the pie was good, but by what Jess had implied, he wasn’t there for the food.

  Or at least he hoped that’s what she’d meant.

  Clearing his throat, he rang the doorbell. The door opened with a swoosh, and there stood Jess wearing an apron.

  Okay, maybe he was there for the food.

  “Hey,” he said, holding up the pie. “I brought dessert.”

  “Oh good. That might be the only edible thing we have tonight. Oh, and wine.” She grabbed the bottle from him. “That will work, too.”

  He followed her into the condo, turning to lock the door. The sound of the dead bolt sliding home made him want to turn and twirl the mustache he didn’t have. “Then I brought the right thing.”

  “You brought yourself, and that’s what I wanted. So, yes.” She set the pie on the counter and then studied a long casserole dish. “Our dinner, however, is another story.”

  He peered at the dish. “There seems to be a lot of cheese.” What he really wanted to ask was, What did you mean by my being what you wanted? But he stuck with commenting on cheese. It seemed easier.

  Jess made a face. “I thought the cheese would help. Putting lots of it on stuff covers up disaster.”

  “What exactly is this disaster?”

  “An enchilada casserole,” Jess said, turned to him. “I suck at cooking. I’m great at calling for pizza or making something easy like nachos, but real cooking escapes me. I followed the recipe, but I put in a whole can of soup mix instead of four ounces. Why don’t they say it’s only half of a can instead of sliding those ounces into the recipe like we’re supposed to realize there is twice the amount called for in the can? I think the soup people trick us on purpose.”

  Ryan laughed.

  “Don’t laugh.”

  “It’s cute. You tried to make me dinner,” he said, wanting to make her feel better. So he stepped behind her, wrapped his arms about her waist, and kissed her neck. Which smelled amazing.

  But the snuggle caused Jess to go rigid.

  “Jess?” he asked, lifting his head but not unwinding his arms.

  “Mmm?”

  “You okay?”

  She patted his hand. “Yeah. I’m good.”

  “Is this too much too soon?”

  Jess shook her head. “No. Maybe.” She spun around, sliding her hands down his forearms to capture his hands. “I’m going to be totally honest, okay?”

  A niggle of dread wobbled in his stomach. Did he want her to be honest? To admit she wasn’t sure about him? That she was still hung up on dumb-ass Benton? Or maybe it was who he’d been before? He shut down those negative thoughts. She’d said she wanted him when he walked in the door. “I’ve always thought honesty a good policy. In fact, I think that’s a saying.”

  Jess smiled. Then she released his hands and stepped away, staring out the kitchen window to the condo next door, which was, ironically, Morgan’s place. Taking a deep sigh, she said, “The thing is, I’ve never been with another man.”

  The niggle dissolved as he processed her statement. She hadn’t said she didn’t want him. She’d said … “Oh.”

  Her pretty amber eyes lifted to his. Inside he could see why people often said the eyes were the windows to the soul. “I’m nervous and … I don’t know. This all feels weird and exciting and scary. I don’t want it to, but sex is sort of a big deal for me. I know that makes me so not a modern woman. I mean, Rosemary went to New York City and had sex with a virtual stranger. She did freaky things in a Central Park carriage and played a kinky strip game in the stairwell of her cousin’s walkup. She got a tattoo on her ass.”

  “You’re not Rosemary. You’re you.”

  “I know, but I know you. I trust you. I want you. So this should be easy.”

  Ryan went to her, folding her into his arms, trying to show her he understood. After a few seconds, she relaxed against him. Then, with a sigh, she laid her head on his shoulder. He concentrated on how good she felt in his arms, not the thought he wasn’t getting laid tonight. Hey, he was a guy. But he was a guy who cared about the woman he held. “I get this feels like a big step for you, but I’m not pushing you into anything. I want you to be comfortabl
e with everything we do. So no expectations, okay? Not even from your casserole.”

  “Well, that’s a relief. Uh, for the casserole.”

  “Hey, I’m happy to be with you, Jess. It’s that simple.”

  “But I want to have sex. I mean, I need to go there. I have to get past, well, my past.”

  “Having sex is not like taking medicine, Jess. It should happen because you want it, not because you think it’s a magic bullet that’s going to fix things for you.”

  She gave a small laugh. “But you’d be good for me.”

  He pulled back and tilted her chin up. “We’re good the way we are. Stop throwing up obstacles that aren’t in front of us. We’re two people who like each other who are having dinner together.”

  Jess nodded, and he studied her lips. He wanted to kiss her, but after the words they’d shared, he forced himself to step away. “How about some music?”

  “That would be excellent.”

  “This rainy weather always makes me crave old standards. You have a dock?” He waggled his phone.

  Jess pointed to the dock on the kitchen clock, and he set Spotify to his rainy-day playlist. Soon Etta James crooned “A Sunday Kind of Love.” He unscrewed the bottle of sauvignon blanc he’d been saving and found the glasses while Jess cut up romaine for the salad. Then he sat down to chill and watch Jess make dinner. There was something so pleasing in the plink of the rain, the thunk of the knife against the cutting board, and the golden wine swirling around the goblet. A strange warmth settled over him, and he had the oddest belief that he was right where he was supposed to be.

  Though he often experienced profound moments like this when he motored out into the Gulf, fully immersed in God’s creation—or whatever one believed about creation—connected to who he was, connected to his new self, he’d never felt the way he felt right now. Leaning against the counter watching Jess in her calico-patched apron, slicing tomatoes and shredding cheese, made him feel … content. Had he ever truly felt content in this manner? He didn’t think so.

  “We may have to make the most of this salad,” Jess said, picking up her glass and taking a sip. “Mmm, good.”

  “No, no. I think the cheese will do the job,” he said, eyeing her casserole.

  The track changed to Billy Paul’s “Me and Mrs. Jones,” and Ryan smiled. He loved this song and had always imagined the very pleasurable activities he could engage in while it played. With the rain sliding down the window, the wine warming his belly, and Jess’s recent admission hovering above them, he’d have to settle for a dance. Setting his wine down, he tapped Jess on the shoulder. “Shall we?”

  She set the knife down as an adorable crinkle appeared between her eyes. “Shall we what?”

  He crooked an eyebrow and swept her into his arms, moving against her body.

  “Oh,” she sighed. “I haven’t danced since May Claire’s wedding almost a year ago.”

  “Then you’re due,” he said, moving them into the darkened living room. He took her hand and wrapped his other hand firmly about her waist and started moving.

  “You’re a good dancer,” she said, resting her head once again on his shoulder. Her hair tickled his nose, and the scent of fresh apples filled his nose. Perfect.

  “I took lessons.”

  “Really?” she murmured.

  “When I decided to give up being a geek, I set about becoming Mr. GQ. I signed up for ballroom dancing and took a course on making cocktails. For the bedroom stuff, I read a dozen books. I mastered tantric sex. Or at least I think I did. As for learning about the habits of the red-blooded American male, like an anthropologist, I ventured into the field, otherwise known as Buffalo Wild Wings.”

  “Oh? What did you learn?”

  “That the average male often lies in order to appear dominant, slaps fellow males on the back as a universal greeting, and wears too much cologne. They also have an extraordinary interest in girls with big breasts.”

  “Astute observation.”

  “Would you expect anything less?” he asked, taking that exact moment to turn them with a little dip. “When I set my mind to something, I don’t half-ass it, Jess.”

  “Mmm,” she said, and he could almost hear the smile in her voice. For the next few minutes they were content to sway against each other, the music cloaking them in intimacy. He sang the lyrics low in her ear, stroking her lower back, enjoying the feel of her breasts against his chest, the slide of her thighs.

  The song ended, and they stood for a moment, still pressed together, totally still. He could feel her heart beat, hear her steady breath, and he savored the moment of having Jess in his arms.

  “So do we have a thing going on?” she whispered.

  “Oh, Mrs. Jones, we so have a thing going on,” he said against the softness of her hair. He dropped her hand and wrapped both arms around her, holding her close as a new song came on.

  “What’s tantric sex?” she asked.

  He should have known she wouldn’t let that subject pass. “Maybe you’ll get to find out.”

  “But not tonight,” she sighed, her voice portraying a combination or regret and relief … if that were possible.

  “I’ll be content if I can get to first base,” he joked, dropping a kiss against her temple.

  “I thought you didn’t like baseball.”

  “I don’t. But the sexual euphemisms the sport provides are hard to resist. You know, sliding home, switch hitter—”

  “Are you a switch hitter?” She pulled her head from his shoulder and stared at him with laughing eyes.

  “No, I’m merely relaying the common euphemisms associated with the sport.”

  “God, you make me feel so good. How do you do that?”

  Ryan shrugged. “I’d like to say it’s because I’ve studied women, dating patterns, and the probability of getting laid. Or tell you I have all the right words and rehearsed moves, but that would be a lie. Truth is, Jessica Culpepper, you suckered me in a long time ago, and I’ll do about anything to make you happy.”

  Her eyes glistened with sudden tears. “Holy shit,” she whispered, lifting her hand to his cheek. “You really are good at this stuff.”

  Ryan traced the curve of her cheek with one finger. “So how about giving up first base?”

  Using her finger, she swiped along her lower lashes, dashing away the moisture. “You can totally hit a single tonight. Maybe a double. I’d really like to see you score, but—”

  “Shh,” he said, lowering his head. Very gently, he slid a hand past the nape of her neck, through her hair, cupping her head and moving it so her mouth was in the perfect position. Jess had a wide mouth, and her lips were a yielding pink that beckoned like a siren. He’d been waiting a long time to taste her, so he wasn’t about to rush the first time.

  Counting off one, then two seconds, he lowered his head. Carefully, he brushed his lips against hers, but he didn’t settle in. Instead he reversed directions and brushed against her mouth again, teasing her, drawing the pleasure out. He felt her breathing ratchet—a satisfactory signal his seduction worked. So he pressed his lips to her cheek, lowering his right hand, sliding past her waist to the firm globe of her ass. Slowly he brought her to him, fitting her pelvis against his, hoping she could feel the hardness stirring against her softness.

  She sighed.

  He began the journey to her mouth, moving millimeter by millimeter toward the prize.

  When he reached her mouth, he twined her hair in his fingers and pulled her head back. Her mouth parted just as he intended. This time he didn’t waste time. He swooped in and took possession.

  Her body surged toward him, and her hands, which had lain inert, curled into his back. “Oh,” she breathed.

  “Mmm-hmm,” he murmured, deepening the kiss.

  She tasted like the carrots she’d been nibbling and some intoxicating elixir he had no name for. He broke the kiss and arched an eyebrow. “Did you sneak a carrot?”

  Jess laughed. “Seriously?�
�

  “Never mind,” he said, hauling her against him again, resuming the kiss he’d dreamed of for years upon years. Her tongue met his as she opened herself to him like a flower greedy for rain. She pushed back, kissing him as hunger exploded. What was once tender and teasing turned urgent. He couldn’t stop. She couldn’t seem to stop.

  Time stood still as they opened, accepted, embraced, and latched on to what existed between them. And it was perfect.

  He couldn’t have imagined anything better than kissing Jess.

  After what felt like forever, they stepped away from each other.

  “Wow,” Jess said.

  Ryan smiled and dropped another kiss on her forehead. “You see how easy that was? How right that was? All this might be easier than you think, babe.”

  He’d called her babe.

  Benton had called her that, and she’d loved the intimacy, the implied stamp of you’re mine. But she loved the way Ryan said it, too. Those words skipped along her spine, curled up in her belly, and burrowed deep.

  And that kiss?

  At the first touch of his lips, hot, furious desire had broken through and danced inside her. Right after Benton had left, she’d tried to imagine her future life. When she’d thought about kissing another man, letting him touch her the way her husband had, even make love to her, she’d always felt sick. How could she be with another man? She couldn’t. Not when she’d given herself heart, body, and soul to the boy who’d copied her notes in Mrs. Farley’s civics class. But months ago, lying alone beneath the sheets she’d borrowed from her mother in order to fit her new double bed, Jess couldn’t have imagined Ryan Reyes. She couldn’t have foreseen him holding her as they danced in the middle of a beach rental with rain sliding down the windows as someone crooned a sexy song she’d never heard before. She couldn’t have imagined the sweet stirring of desire, the rightness of another man singing low and off-key in her ear. The old Jess couldn’t ever imagine how good it could be.

  How much easier it had been to let herself go with another man.